


this feeling in our souls we carry

by voodoochild



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (well - not entirely), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Codependency, Fat Shaming, Identity Issues, Loneliness, M/M, Not Kayfabe Compliant, Psychic Wolves, Sami Zayn is not El Generico, Separation Anxiety, Telepathic Bond, gratuitous quebecois swearing, mentions of animal breeding and neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: Sami and Generico are in Florida, dealing with life in the WWE, life without Kevin, and possibly having to *stop* being Sami and Generico. [Fusion with "A Companion to Wolves", takes place in March 2013.]





	this feeling in our souls we carry

**Author's Note:**

> Psychic Wolves time is one of the best times of the year. Much love to Petra for running this unique corner of fandom, Mith and Chloe for the moral support, timeline support and Generico-deconstruction assistance, and B for last-minute beta duties.
> 
> Quick timeline note: Sami has been at the PC and had his in-ring debut but not his television debut. Kevin is working on the indies and isn't married with kids in this 'verse.

“You gotta rename him,” Dusty says, the third week of promo class.

Generico is lying on the floor beside Sami, paws in the air, wiggling in that absent way of his and keeping up a low-level commentary _(this is good, my back is itchy, can we have ice cream soon?)_. He’s got dirt in his reddish fur, and Sami reaches down to brush the worst of it off. Generico play-growls, and Sami remembers a four month old pup nosing at his mask. Remembers how he and Kevin had laughed and rescued the mask, but the name stuck in what he hadn't known yet was their pack bond. He's just _vanilla-grass-leather-Generico_. 

It was just right.

“I can’t rename him,” Sami protests, while the rest of the class wanders off to work out or get lunch. “His name is Generico, he doesn’t understand things like kayfabe and gimmicks.”

“Too tied to your former life, baby,” Dusty drawls. “People gonna look at him and remember all your history. You need a fresh start here, and if they hear that name, they’re gonna bring all those expectations down on your curly head.”

 _[Sami, what’s wrong with my name?]_ Generico asks, blinking up at them.

“Nothing,” he responds firmly. “It’s nothing, it’s wrestling stuff. We’ll figure it out.”

Generico does not appreciate “wrestling stuff”, it’s never his favorite thing. Sure, he gets absolutely gleeful off the secondhand adrenaline rush, when Sami jumps off things or has an amazing match or wins titles, but he’s a trellwolf, and they hate restrictions. Generico doesn’t get the need to “pretend” in public, pretend to hate people they love and like people they hate, for Sami to pretend to be a different person and hide his face under a mask. He’s happier at the PC, where everyone is straightforward and they can be themselves.

Except he’s never going to be a star in WWE as Sami Zayn, and he needs Generico to understand this. Dusty’s right, because Dusty is a wrestling god on earth, and Dusty knows that wrestlers with wolfbrothers have to work three times as hard as everyone else when it comes to gimmicks. Hard for audiences to forget the four-legged walking reminder of a real person's wolfbrother right next to a wrestler. 

It was so much easier with Kevin…

Generico perks up. _[Kevin-mate?]_

“No, oh my god, Generico, stop calling him that. He’s just Kevin, and we’ll talk to him later like we always do.”

Dusty laughs. “Oh son, that’s another thing you’re gonna have to watch. You definitely can’t fight with your brother out loud, and you sure as hell ain’t gonna win. Just let him call Kevin your mate.”

“He’s not, we had this talk-”

“No, _you_ had this talk. Wolves don’t change their designations. Allies are allies, enemies are enemies, brothers are brothers, and your mate is still your mate even when he’s running around invading shows and giving Cornette heart palpitations.”

_[He should be here. With us.]_

Yeah, okay, he agrees with Generico about that, because there’s no one who deserves a shot in WWE more than Kevin, but apparently he’s already worn out everyone’s tolerance of “hey, that’s like when Kevin and I-” stories. No one will consider signing Kevin now, and Sami just needs to suck it up and deal with Kevin being in Montreal and the indies without him.

He slumps down on the chair, his head tipping back and the weird industrial pattern of the ceiling tiles coming into view.

“What the hell would I even rename him? Shouldn’t I figure out my gimmick first?”

“Oh, you think you’re gonna choose your own gimmick?”

“Well, Hunter said-”

Dusty shakes his head. “Little H ain’t the one booking the main roster, baby boy.” He claps a hand on Sami’s shoulder. “You gotta face facts sometime. Ain’t guaranteed that Vince will go for you having a wolfbrother, no matter what you call yourself.”

That’s - that’s so stupid. No way. Vince respects wolfbonds, knows that separation every night affects both the man and the wolf. Obviously he’ll understand that Sami and Generico have to stay together.

(He remembers watching the Hart Foundation, each man with a brother. Remembers over the years - guys he knew like Punk and Bryan with their siblings, guys he didn’t like Tyler’s stablemates. But there are wrestlers who go their entire careers without their wolves in front of the cameras, and he has to let himself form the thought: just because he was allowed to have Generico with him on the indies doesn’t mean WWE will continue it.)

“Couldn’t you say something?” he says hopefully. “You know, tell Vince that I’m good enough to be a main-eventer here, tell him Generico will help get me over.”

Dusty snorts, and Dream trots over from where he’s been napping on a pile of mats. He sidles up to Dusty, offering Generico a polite nuzzle, whuffing softly at Generico baring his belly. Dusty snickers after a moment, nodding to Dream. “He’s right. For such a know-it-all pain in the ass, Zayn, you got no confidence. Why wouldn’t you main-event? As whoever the heck you wanna be?”

“Uh, I can barely get a match at house shows?”

“Oh, and you think you ain’t never gonna get better?”

“I mean, I could be champion, I know I’m gonna have the best matches. I expect the main roster eventually, but Dust, you know I’m not what Vince looks for.”

_[Stupid. Small means quick. Small means smart. Small gets us what we want.]_

_[Small isn’t dominant, to Vince. Like Cornette-]_

_[Still wanna eat him. At least a bite? If he hurts Kevin again, I’m going to bite him no matter what you try to tell me.]_

_[If he hurts Kevin again, I’ll let you.]_

“I think you’re gonna do just fine,” Dusty says, getting to his feet with a groan. Looks down at Sami with a lopsided smile. “Give me a list of names for him, and work on that promo for tomorrow. No stopping in the middle this time.”

He can’t promise to not stop in the middle; using his voice, letting people see him . . . it’s still terrifying. The words just won’t come together, won’t flow. At first he tried to promo like Kevin, and that was clearly an idiotic idea because they laughed him out of the PC. Then he tried more of himself, more detail, a different vocal style, and that was also stupid because then they started mocking him like everyone eventually does.

_{We can do it. Ice cream, then promo writing?]_

He sighs, gets to his feet and reaches down to skritch Generico between his ears. “Yeah, all right. But only one ice cream this time. You’ll be ridiculous if you get brain freeze again.”

***

“And Bo Dallas, if you think I’m gonna pin you, you’ve got another thing- fuck, fuck, switch that around, if he thinks he’s gonna pin me- I mean, he is gonna pin me, he’s going over, so why am I even bringing up who gets the pin? Doesn’t that jinx it or something-?”

_[Why are you flipping the fuck out over a dumb promo?]_

Oh. Kevin. Kevin doesn’t usually talk mind-to-mind unless they’re in the ring, it weirds everyone out and he says it makes him feel like a B-movie villain. He can’t be finished the show already, can he?

_[Curtain-jerked with Adam. Fuckin’ Empire never books me higher than pre-main event.]_

Sami closes his eyes and opens the bond - it’s like opening a particularly sticky screen door, recently. He knows how to do it and knows the result he wants, but it’s just blocked. It’s been blocked since his PWG farewell. It’s not too bad tonight, Generico is happily devouring his strawberry ice cream and through Kevin’s eyes, Sami can see miles of darkened road through a windshield.

_[Thought talking like this while driving freaked you out?]_

_[S’fine. It’s West Bumblefuck, New York, I’ll be lucky if there’s anyone for miles. You didn’t answer my question.]_

Sami tries to hold back the feelings of hopelessness and frustration that have been building since this afternoon, but it’s useless. You can’t hide things from a bond or wolfbrother - if Sami or Kevin or Generico separately knows a thing, they all know it. So it comes rushing out, the failures in promo class, people laughing, Dusty’s directive to rename his wolfbrother.

He feels a wash of indignation - _[like hell, I don’t care if it IS Dusty himself, we’re not renaming our wolf]_ \- and it’s so perfectly, heartwrenchingly Kevin that Sami flops down on the couch and pulls his knees to his chest in comfort.

Generico whuffles in alarm, coming up for air from the ice cream and whining over at Sami. Generico sends him Kevin’s scent-name (chocolate-cotton-winter), linking them like he always does, and Kevin sighs through the bond. He’s getting Sami’s records-coriander-sun scent in return, stronger memories and emotions, the sheer gut-twisting panic he feels when he has to be himself in front of people.

 _[Cheri, why do you do this to yourself?]_ Kevin asks, and it’s not mean. He hates seeing Sami struggle, even though Sami’s in WWE and Kevin isn’t. _[You keep so distant, you get in your own head. Or Generico’s. An audience won’t relate to that.]_

_[You think Dusty hasn’t lectured me about this?]_

_[You clearly didn’t listen. To that one or the one about how you’ve gotta separate your gimmick from Generico. Make him follow your lead. You won’t have the mask-]_

_[If you bring up the fucking mask, I will cry. Again. And you can explain that to Generico.]_

They shut down that train of thought quickly, before Generico can really notice it. Kevin busies himself with driving, shifting gears just to do it, and Sami can feel the slight vibrations of the engine and the cool steering wheel under his hands too. The physical sensations between them don’t always transfer - only during ruts or otherwise extremely stressful times - but there are scattered moments like this. He’s comforted by it now, because driving with Kevin is one of the most normal sensations in the world to him; a thousand nights like this one, slumped into the passenger seat with Generico in the back, dozing against the window while Kevin drove. 

_[Hey,]_ Kevin sends, a little tentatively. _[Can you pet Generico for me?]_

Sami’s heart stutters, because he’s been so stuck in his own frustrations that he can’t even imagine what it must be like for Kevin. Working alone, driving alone, living alone - Sami has Generico because that’s what they’d agreed was best, but he’s as much Kevin’s wolfbrother as he is Sami’s.

“You want some Kevin-pets?” he asks, and Generico barks in agreement.

He feels Kevin’s chagrin before Generico abandons the dregs of the ice cream cup and bounds over to Sami. Generico jumps up onto the couch next to him, pushing his way onto Sami’s lap, cold and wet nose shoving against his neck. Sami yelps, trying to wrestle 60 pounds of russet trellwolf, and Generico rests his chin on Sami’s shoulder decisively. Sami starts with the neck ruff scratches, quick and deep the way Kevin does it, working his way around and letting Generico play-nip happily at his fingers. He mimics Kevin’s doggo voice - Generico is a wolf, yes, but he’s always been more of an oversized dog than anything truly feral - asking him if he’s a good boy and if he wants belly rubs.

Of course Generico wants belly rubs, wiggling his way onto his back, and Kevin’s feeling the sensation of thick rust-colored fur against his palms and the slightly-sticky leather of the couch against Sami’s legs. There’s surprise and contentment shading into Kevin’s part of the bond, and Sami silently apologizes, again, for taking Generico to Florida with him instead of letting him stay in Montreal with Kevin.

 _[Hey, we agreed on this,]_ Kevin sends, _[I don't have the money for me and Generico on the road, you've got a nice apartment and park. It's what's best for him, certainement.]_

_[We miss you.]_

_[I miss you both. Wish I were there to punch those losers who think you're anything but the best wrestler in the world.]_

_[Stop being sad,]_ Generico declares, and thankfully it’s only in Sami’s head. _[Talk to Kevin-mate, he knows. We can be ourself, we don’t need the mask.]_

He does. Sami is the mask, and Sami is Generico, and he can’t imagine separating them.

***

There's a house show in Daytona that they almost don't make it to because very few guys want to ride with a trellwolf who takes up the entire backseat and howls for every fast food restaurant they pass. Sami has to go, he has a match (against Graves, he has a lot of ideas for spots), but it's just been a constant stream of “sorry, all full”. He knows he should just buy his own car; doesn't quite have the money yet, it's only been two paychecks.

Bayley and Becky save them, agreeing to drive him and Generico even though the girls aren't on the card. Bayley, he isn't surprised at - she's a ray of sunshine who loves dogs and wolves and former luchadors who trained alongside Sara del Rey - but he's never really talked much with Becky. He remembers her from Shimmer, too-young and crazy-talented, making even the Knights look like amateurs.

But she's sprawled across the backseat with Generico's head and paws in her lap, petting his ears, which will endear her to Generico forever.

“You're really comfortable with trellwolves,” he says, twisting around in the front seat.

Becky nods. “My trainer had one. Has one. We always liked him hanging around the gym - if something looked like shite, Balor would tell us.”

“I don't think this one would care what a move looked like as long as he got fed,” Sami says affectionately, and Generico yips back.

_[Dinner?]_

_[After the show, you ate before we left.]_

_[Boring. Somebody will give me a snack while you wrestle.]_

_[Fine. Bottomless pit.]_

He looks over to see Bayley sneaking glances at him while she drives. “Oh, sorry,” he says, “The bond looks kind of weird from the outside, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, it's...not what I expected. Your eyes don't go all white like in the movies-”

“That's such a Hollywood thing, nobody does that. It's just like talking to a person, except you're thinking the words instead of speaking them. Sometimes you don't even get words, sometimes it's a...a feeling. Or an impression.”

“You share him, right?” Becky asks. “I was at a PWG show ages ago and you and Steen were tagging. People said you were both wolfbonded.”

Sami freezes, because he’d thought the only one who knew was Dusty.

“Bex, you weren't supposed to say anything-”

“Come on, you're dying to know too!”

“I wouldn't have asked him like that, dude.”

“Well, Generico seems cool with us, so that means part of Sami is too. And okay, how many opportunities do you think we're gonna get to talk in private without the rest of the PC listening?”

_[We should tell them. They're not going to hurt us.]_

_[It was still illegal, you weren't registered with the Board and it was an underage bond.]_

_[You and Kevin-mate needed me! I needed you both!]_

Generico whines, pushes his head between the front seats to let Sami stroke the fur at his neck, his velvety nose. 

“I know, I remember,” he murmurs. 

Ten years ago, locked out of the IWS gym because some of the guys were being dicks, Kevin ranting about freezing his ass off in the cold, then stopping Sami dead in his tracks in the alley. And then around the corner, tucked between a dumpster and a brick wall, a tiny half-frozen scrawny trellwolf pup whimpering and howling. Sami smelled chocolate and coriander and suddenly, there was a voice in his head that felt like it had always been there.

He's had Generico ever since.

_[You can tell them. They’re safe.]_

He looks up at Bayley, over at Becky. “He bonded both of us. Me and Kevin. He didn't know it was bad, he was only four months old and a breeder threw him into a dumpster in Montreal because he came out the wrong color.”

“What the fuck?” Becky asks, eyes wide. “Trellwolf pups are so rare, how could you just, just throw one away?”

“Who fucking knows? We found him in an alley...skinny and starving, he hadn't really ever eaten right, it's why I mostly let him have whatever he wants now, because it took him so long to put on any weight.”

“So you just kept him?” Bayley asks, changing lanes.

"You've clearly never seen Kevin around dogs," Sami responds. "He's like a little kid. I didn't have the heart to say no."

Becky strokes up one of Generico's very-clearly-wolflike ears and raises her eyebrow. "Nobody figured out you had a wolf? I mean, I know Canada's odd and all, Nattie's stories are enough to set your hair on end."

Sami shrugs. “He looked like a regular puppy, a husky mix or something. It wasn’t until we took him to the vet that they told us he was a trellwolf. And by that time he’d already bonded us. Well - it was kind of Kevin, first. He always found it easy to talk with Generico, like he knew what the barking and growling meant. For me, it was a few weeks until I could use the bond. We hid him in our apartment and decided to keep him.”

Generico whines, butts his head against Bayley's arm for more scratches. _[I miss Montreal. Cold and grass and gravy and pack. Here's hot and sandy and there's no Kevin-mate.]_

“What's he saying?” Bayley asks, letting him lean his head on her arm.

“He misses Montreal. The climate, mostly, because wolves really aren't built for 80 degree weather, but also our friends and family. And Kevin. Always Kevin.”

Chocolate-cotton-winter. Home and pack, laughably small as it is. Quebecois talk radio on car trips. Early morning wake-up calls, running through airports, flashing the priority wolf boarding pass it took them four years to get. Creak of ice storms, the three of them curled in bed. Kevin and Generico play-fighting on the floor for hours. 

Sami misses it too, but he can't let himself think about how much. Missing Kevin, letting people see how much he misses Kevin, gets him nothing but jokes and pity, and neither of those things win matches.

***

He wrestles that night, but Generico has to stay in the back. 

It’s not ideal. Generico’s confused ( _Sami, we always go out to the ring together, the crowd cheers for us, why can’t I go?_ ) and Sami’s annoyance slides into sheer terror. He feels naked twice over - no mask, no Generico - and he stumbles over his promo because everyone’s looking at him. Seeing him, his face and his body and his nervous voice, there’s nothing to hide behind now.

The crowd’s lukewarm on him anyway, because Corey Graves is everyone’s idol. Tattooed and punk-rockabilly style, smooth as hell in the ring and smooth as hell on the mic. He’s the kind of heel you cheer no matter what he does, and Sami’s bland white-meat babyface act isn’t cutting it.

In desperation, he decides to call the start on the fly - they’re supposed to wait for the ref, but Sami signals for a forearm and hauls off on Graves. The crowd sucks in a collective breath, Graves laughs under his breath and lets Sami back him against the turnbuckle. Just like that, the crowd isn’t sure of the winner, and some of them are chanting for him (and not the usual leftover Ole chant).

The rest of the match is - well, it’s fine. It’s what it’s supposed to be. Graves makes him tap with Lucky 13, but Sami gets in the Asai and the Blue Thunder Bomb in compensation. He can’t leave quickly enough, just wants to get backstage and hug Generico and maybe see if Bayley and Becky are okay to leave early.

As he hits the curtain, he takes off the dampening bracelet - it looks like a simple black band, but it keeps a trellwolf bond at bay for a maximum of 30 minutes - tossing it to one of the trainers. The first thing he’s hit with is sheer glee, Generico babbling excitedly:

_[Sami, Sami, come back he’s here, you need to come back here so we can be together, all of us, like we’re supposed to be, hurry and get here.]_

_[Generico, what-]_

_[Come back, I stayed in the locker room like you told me to, why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?]_

Sami honestly has no idea what Generico’s so excited about, but he makes his way through the backstage. High-fives from a bunch of people, Sara ribbing him over a wobble on the Asai, Claudio smirking for no good reason, and then he hits the locker room.

His first thought is "wait, why is it so empty?"

His second thought isn’t a thought, it’s a thunderclap of scent and emotion and bond, chocolate/cotton/winter mixing with records/coriander/sun and Sami opens his eyes to see Kevin sitting on the floor, Generico’s head in his lap. He feels punched in the gut: it’s been two long months, 60 days exactly, since he’s been in the same room as Kevin, and it’s like the first gasp of air after choking. 

Blessed. Necessary.

Sami’s knees kind of go, and it’s lucky that he’s still in his gear, because the kneepads get the worst of it. Generico jumps up, scampers over in a blur of fur and teeth and giant ears he still hasn’t grown into.

_[Sami, what happened? Did you get hit? Did you fall bad? Is it the quiet-bracelet? It’s okay, we’re together.]_

“Generico, back off,” Kevin says quietly, and Sami looks up at Kevin, sitting across from him. Close enough to touch, after sixty long days. “It’s - it’s different, for us. It’s more than you’re feeling.”

_[I don’t understand-]_

“I’m okay,” Sami says, curling his fingers into Generico’s ruff. Easing him back a little. “We love you, but can you sit here for a little bit? We’ll pile later, I promise.”

Generico sulks - _[pile NOW, all of us, all together, me and my brothers]_ \- but he lies down opposite them. Sami’s had a lot of practice tuning Generico out, which is helpful, but he can feel Kevin’s fucking heartbeat, taste the coffee he had on the drive from wherever. Kevin, who looks exhausted but better than he has in at least six years, sitting opposite him.

 _[Cheri-]_ echoes through the bond, and Sami reaches out in desperation, lacing his fingers with Kevin’s. They breathe out in unison, gunshot-hard, the bond blaring to technicolor life between them. _[Crissement de tabarnak, niaiseaux, you’ve been bumping for twelve fucking years, tuck your goddamn chin-]_

“Wait, how can you-?”

“Your headache from failing to bump is now my headache. Thanks.”

Sami laughs, wincing at the lance of pain that shoots through them both. “Fuck, I can’t believe I missed you. You yell at me, you sneak Generico tacos, and you’re making fun of my botch.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Come here, okay? I missed you, you know I did. Like fucking breathing.”

It’s just reflex, a twelve-year-old reflex to launch himself into Kevin’s arms, sprawling into a pile of limbs. Overload of skin contact, pressed to Kevin’s chest, straddling Kevin’s thigh, one arm braced on the floor and the other curled around the back of Kevin’s head. Every bit of his skin feels like it’s on fire, and Kevin’s murmuring _yes_ and _please_ and _missed you missed you so much_ against Sami’s mouth.

The hole in Sami’s heart slowly patches over.

***

He drives with Kevin back to his apartment. Kevin had floated the idea of just getting a hotel room, not wanting to intrude, but Generico had growled so viciously at him that they’d let that idea go. Sami expects it’ll be awkward, they’re running on half reflex and half fear, because they all know that Kevin has to leave soon. 

He barely gets through the door before Generico is pushing the backs of his knees through the living room and into the bedroom. Kevin yelps as Generico turns and grabs the bottom of his tee shirt, tugging it - and Kevin- into the bedroom as well.

“ _Arrête don avec ça,_ ” Sami calls out, but Generico shakes his head, tugging Kevin further inside the room.

_[Pile NOW, Kevin-mate and Sami-brother and Generico, safe and pack and home together FINALLY.]_

Kevin very rarely argues with Generico, so he falls onto the mattress. Generico bounds up and barks excitedly at Sami, who has yet to find a defense against Generico’s tail-wiggling excitement. He crawls up onto the bed, opposite Kevin, with Generico in between them. His hand reaches across Generico to curl fingers in Kevin’s hair. Kevin’s hand rests on Sami’s hip. Generico tucks his head into Kevin’s shoulder and curls his back against Sami.

It’s like a lock falling into place: Sami-Kevin-Generico, the way it always was before and always should be.

Sami feels like he can breathe for the first time since moving to Florida. The packbond flares strong, warmth and safety and home, and he can’t help it, he buries his face in Generico’s fur and lets Kevin feel the sheer terror he’s had ever since signing with WWE. It’s not fair of him, he knows, because he has this amazing opportunity and all he can do is complain and worry about it.

Kevin breathes “it’s okay, it’s okay, Sami how can you doubt yourself, you’re so good, you’re better than anyone they’ve got-” and Generico whines in agreement while Sami shakes his head.

“No, I’m not, I’m awful on the mic and I’m nervous in front of crowds, isn’t that the stupidest fucking thing? I’ve been doing this for over a decade and all of a sudden, I can’t hack it. It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore-”

Kevin’s fingers tighten in his hair. “Mine, you’re mine and I’m yours and we’re Generico’s. Nothing comes between that, didn’t we promise?” 

_[Promised!]_ Generico chimes in, wriggling his way around to lick Sami’s face. _[Don’t be sad.]_

“I’m okay, Generico-”

_[No, both of you, you’re both sad, you’re sad and you won’t share it. We’re pack, we share everything, you have to share it so we can all fix it.]_

“Kevin’s not sad.” Sami says it reflexively, because he’d know, wouldn’t he? He would have been able to feel it through the bond… “Kevin, why are you shutting me out?”

“You don’t need my bullshit,” he says, his hand flexing unconsciously. Pressing a little against Sami’s shoulder, and Sami reaches his hand up to brush Kevin’s cheek. “Fucking quit it, it’s nothing.”

_[It’s not.]_

Sami’s not taking chances, he pushes it through the bond and squeezes in the gap in Kevin’s walls. It’s what he does, he pushes and pushes and doesn’t accept no for an answer, and through the bond, Sami sees what Kevin’s been hiding. Black-hole nights, feeling so small and abandoned and helpless, the crowds jeering “how’s your wolf like WWE?” and “haha both Genericos dropped your fat ass.”

It’s fast and both Sami and Generico know it’s going to happen, which is why Generico springs up and hops between Kevin and the door, and Sami rolls over to grab Kevin’s waist. Presses himself to Kevin’s back, breathing in his scent, and Generico has his ears laid back.

_[PACK. No hiding, we love you, you’re supposed to love us.]_

Kevin whimpers through his teeth, the sound almost exactly like when he takes a bad hit. “Leave it alone.”

“Like fuck,” Sami says, drags himself to his knees and clutches tighter at Kevin. “They’re nothing, Kev, they never were. Anyone who shouted us down or told us we weren’t good enough, we fight them until we prove we’re better.”

“Listen to your own fucking advice, idiot,” Kevin says, but there’s no bite to it. He’s leaning back against Sami, because they’ve always been like a pair of magnets. Drawn together, endless attraction and repulsion and attraction again. 

He keeps hold of Kevin, doesn’t want to consider letting him go now that he’s here, and he brushes his lips over Kevin’s shoulder helplessly. “You know I’m crap at listening to advice.”

 _[Sleep pile now?]_ Generico asks, tail thumping on the floor. 

They move back, and Generico jumps up to sprawl out on Kevin, Sami taking his usual spot tucked into the wall with his arm curled through Kevin’s. Warm and necessary and right - he hasn’t felt so certain since moving to Orlando. Kevin is - has always been - his certainty, and now Sami is certain of three things.

With or without a trellwolf, with or without his bondmate, Sami Zayn is going to show everyone what he’s capable of. Kevin Steen is going to make it wherever the hell he wants, and Sami’s not going to rest until Kevin’s signed. And Generico is going to stay Generico, because remembering the past is the best way to shape your future. 

Kevin will get here, and Sami and Generico will be waiting for him when he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Cheri = darling  
> Certainement = absolutely  
> Crissement de tabarnak, niaiseaux = fucking hell, you idiot/nuisance (Quebecois)  
> Arrête don avec ça = knock it off (Quebecois)


End file.
